Pain
by skyefairie
Summary: "And it was pain such as he could never have imagined. It was an aching, bone-deep pain, harsh and torturous, which tore at George's being, leaving him on his knees, helplessly clutching his stomach in a vain attempt to ease it." George's pain on the night Fred dies...


**A/N. As one of those who have suffered horrible devastation at Fred's untimely death, I decided to write this little fic to portray George's grief and devastation. It's rather heart-wrenching and it left me a little choked up! I've been writing it in my head all morning and thought I'd type it out and see what you all think of it!**

**Disclaimer: All references and quotes from the original story, as well as the entire Harry Potter Universe, all belongs to the astounding Jo Rowling. **

_The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant laid down their arms? Harry's mind was in freefall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossibility, because Fred Weasley could not be dead. The evidence of all his senses must be lying – _

And it was pain such as he could never have imagined. Pain that, prior to this moment, had not been even remotely possible. It was an aching, bone-deep pain, harsh and torturous, which tore at George's being, leaving him on his knees, helplessly clutching his stomach in a vain attempt to ease it.

But nothing ever could.

Part of it was physical, as if his very heart was being dragged out from between his ribs and the pain ripped through him, leaving his suddenly small and fragile body shaking violently. It left George gasping for breath, kneeling on the floor as tears dripped down his long nose, soaking into the jumper that incidentally smelled just like his brother.

Part of it was psychological. He felt lost. Thrown unexpectedly into the unknown where everything was strange and alien. His head was empty and spinning, struggling to grasp the hideous impossibility that his twin was indeed gone forever. The grief rose like bile in his throat and his head sunk to his knees. He could not breathe, he could not see. He was alone in a dark world and there was nothing and no one who could relieve the pain.

The stone floor beneath his knees was cold and hard, but he relished the physical pain that tore him, if only for a moment, from the dark realm of grief into which he had slipped. His head was bent over his lap and his hands treaded through his flaming red hair, clutching his head as if that would ease the pain.

He could hear his mother sobbing, and the choked gasps coming from the remainder of his family. But heard it as if from a great distance. As if he was far away. And indeed he wished he was. He wished he could simply vanish, sink into a place where neither time nor loss existed. A place where his twin could join him.

A sob escaped him as memory upon memory washed over him. Sunlit memories of laughter, happiness ad fun. Anything to forget the predicament this war had put him in.

~o0o~

They were five years old again, and running through the Burrow's vegetable patch, rummaging through the Peony's for gnomes. Fred had been bitten by a particularly fierce female. He had born the scar on his left index finger to this day.

They were eleven, on Platform 9 ¾.Mrs Weasley was trying to kiss them goodbye as they hopped up and down excitedly. Bill had grabbed Fred and hauled him onto the Hogwarts Express at the last minute. He had always been particularly attached to his mother.

They were thirteen and Fred had just received his first kiss from Alicia Spinnit. He had wasted no time in sharing every last explicit detail with his twin.

They were seventeen and zooming away from Hogwarts into their newfound freedom. Fred had missed the castle terribly in the weeks that followed. George had teased him about it – secretly feeling the same.

They were eighteen and opening their shop for the first time. Hoards of customers had bombarded Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that day. They had celebrated that evening with a large bottle of firewhiskey – which they had later regretted.

They were nineteen and Fred was arguing with Lee about his code name on Potterwatch. They had eventually settled on _Rapier_, since Fred had flat out refused to be dubbed _Rodent_.

They were seven again... twelve... sixteen...

The memories flashed by in a blur, leaving George's head spinning sickeningly.

He was brought back to the present with a sudden jolt as a dry sob escaped him. He looked up slowly. There they all were. His family. Grouped around the stretcher on which his motionless brother lay. Hermione was there too, her arm around Ginny's shaking shoulders. Ron and Percy were clutching each other in a desperate, grief-stricken embrace.

His eyes fell once again to Fred's face. It almost looked as if he was smiling. He had always said he would die laughing...

Another dry sob escaped him, but no tears fell. He was cried out. He was an empty, hollow shell. He pushed Fred's hair back from his cold forehead with one trembling hand, looking down into the still face that was so like his...

_And Fred's eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face..._


End file.
